


A Picture Worth A Thousand Words and Then Some

by unlockedlips



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockedlips/pseuds/unlockedlips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to pass time while Bucky was at work, Steve decided to sketch a little. He never thought the subject matter would have gotten him into so much trouble.</p>
<p>Alternatively, the one where the gay thoughts finally catch up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Picture Worth A Thousand Words and Then Some

There was something soothing about the weight of a pencil in his hand and the smooth glide of lead on paper. Sketching was cathartic in a way that nothing else had been. Sure, the medications he took could still his coughing, let him breathe a little easier at night, but he was still Steve, still the same small kid from Brooklyn. It was when he was drawing that he felt important, like his artwork mattered. He could catch a glimpse of a bird perched on the rusted iron of their fire escape before their neighbors inevitably scared it off and recreate its image perfectly on paper, down to the very smallest detail. He used it as a way to express himself, a means to communicate without stumbling over words or losing his breath.

If the weather was nice, he’d sit outside of their window while Bucky was at work, feet dangling from the railing and pencil tucked safely behind his ear as he watched the streets below. He could spend hours out there just watching the people pass by his apartment building, and though his vision wasn’t as good as it could be, if he squinted just right, he could see their entire block laid out before them. Often he’d wait until a particular face captured his attention, and then he’d study them until they rounded a corner, taking note of every interesting detail and filing it away to use later. Usually these people were not conventionally pretty. Steve didn’t usually like to draw pretty people, except one in particular. There were enough of them in the world; they got enough attention already. Instead he focused on the people everyone averted their eyes from, like the elderly woman with the hunched back who always cradled her purse to her person like a mother would a child or the butcher coming home from a long day’s work, hair mussed from the hat he was forced to wear and an apron stained red and brown. Bucky didn’t get it no matter how hard Steve tried to explain it. He always laughed and asked why Steve couldn’t draw more pretty little dames.

It was raining today. Fall had come rushing into New York, pushing away long summer nights and bringing in a chill that settled in his bones. It would be a harsh winter this year, he was sure of it. As much as he wanted to sit outside and watch the Brooklynites scuttle around for shelter, he knew he’d catch his death in the form of a cold or maybe even an overly protective best friend.

Keeping his wrist loose, he let pencil touch paper for the first time that day, hoping it would help the remaining hours Bucky was at work pass by quickly. He thought of Bucky, working at the docks, slinging cargo, soaking wet, and noticed that the abstract lines on his paper began to resemble his friend’s strong jaw line. He shrugged his shoulders and went with it. It wasn't like this was the first time he had ever drawn Bucky before, and he knew it definitely wouldn’t be the last. They had been inseparable for years now, and Steve had forced Bucky to pose for him on more than one occasion so he could master drawing anatomy, much to Bucky’s chagrin.

Paying careful attention to the cleft in Bucky’s chin, he chose to add a faint shadow along his jawline and under his cheekbones. He had lived with Bucky long enough to know that he liked to keep his skin smooth and clear, but in the mornings over a steaming cup of coffee, he could always see the faint beginnings of facial hair on Bucky’s face. Steve thought it suited him and idly wondered what it would be like to run his fingertips over it. Would it be soft or would it scratch like sandpaper over his skin? Of course, his curiosity solely stemmed from the fact his body had yet to produce anything that remotely resembled a beard. It had nothing to do with wanting to touch Bucky’s face.

He roughly sketched out a neck and shoulders, only focused there long enough to create prominent collar bones. He had drawn Bucky’s body enough times to map out his lean muscles and sturdy breadth; this time he wanted to create a portrait.

Bucky’s eyes were the hardest after he penciled in his nose, not because Steve didn’t remember how they looked, but because he’d seen those eyes hold every expression possible. He knew exactly how his brows furrowed when he was concerned, standing over Steve’s bed last winter as he fought off the flu. It had been the first cold season after Sarah’s funeral, and Bucky had been at a loss without her to guide his actions. Steve swore he worried more about Bucky’s mental health during that time than Bucky had been worried about Steve’s physical health. He had seen Bucky’s eyes go dark, pupils dilated in anger as he fought off three men twice the size of Steve all because he had gone and picked a fight with the wrong crowd. He had even seen Bucky cry once, and he could never forget the way his eyes had welled with tears and spilled over, even if Bucky had brushed them hurriedly away. To pick any of those one emotions would never do them justice.

The best course of action, he decided, would be to let his hands do all of the work. If he kept overthinking it like this, he’d ruin the whole portrait. Again, he let his mind drift to still his thoughts as he called up an image of Bucky to mind, round eyes, slightly drawn downward at the outer corner, thick black lashes that cast a shadow, and heavy brows to set them. Steve focused on the paper for a moment to see that the expression he drew on Bucky’s face was one he had seen before, but never directed at himself. It was the one Bucky gave dames when they went out dancing, the one he sported whenever he saw a sweet little canary on the street, and the one Steve remembers seeing on Bucky’s face when Steve walked in on him and a girl from high school.

He didn’t know why he had drawn Bucky this way with eyes dark and hooded. Practice, he told himself, it was just for practice. If he wanted to become a good artist, then he’d have to master the art of capturing all sorts of expressions. It was a good enough excuse that he felt comfortable enough to continue drawing without feeling any sort of shame.

Bucky’s mouth was usually held in a permanent smirk, one corner turned up every time he caught a glimpse of Steve, or even stretched into a brilliant smile, but Steve didn’t want to draw them like that. No, instead he drew them full and relaxed with a slight part between his lips. Steve thought he finally understood what the ladies saw in Bucky as he gazed down at the portrait on his lap. He finally understood why every time they went out together, all of the women they passed gazed at Bucky with longing. It reminded him of several nights where Steve was forced to stay outside on the fire escape. He would sit on rusted metal and try to find constellations in a polluted dark sky while ignoring whatever Bucky was doing with his latest catch inside. He could usually ignore them both whenever he’d politely excuse himself from the apartment to slip outside of the bedroom window, but he couldn’t always ignore the sounds. 

Steve wondered why Bucky was always so noisy whenever he brought someone home. The apartment they shared was notorious for having paper thin walls, and he didn’t think the neighbors particularly enjoyed being privy to Bucky’s late night escapades. There had been so many nights where Steve was forced to listen to the shrill moans of a woman mixed with the rhythmic creak of old bed springs, and he hated it. Just the memory of it made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. There were other nights, though, where under those discordant moans he could hear Bucky’s soft grunts or a few gentle groans that made him flush hot. Steve hated how many memories he had of Bucky doing this, how many sounds of his Steve could still hear in his head, and how much he enjoyed it.

Feeling uncomfortably warm, Steve pulled away from his thoughts and fidgeted on the couch to relieve his discomfort. Shame rolled through his stomach in waves of nausea as he found himself half hard and staring down at Bucky’s face on his sketchbook. The portrait had never been about trying to master a simple expression. Instead it had turned into a physical representation of his attraction to his best friend.

He glanced at the clock by the door, noting Bucky wouldn’t be home for another 30 minutes or so. That would give him plenty of time to deal with this and clean up before he was forced to pretend like this never happened. 

‘ _It’s okay, Steve,_ ’ he told himself. ‘ _You’re a young guy. This is normal. It’s just ‘cause you can’t get a woman, that’s all. It’s got nothing to do with Bucky._ ’ 

He had no idea denial could be such an aphrodisiac.

Heart racing, he unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hand under the waistband to touch himself. The first feelings of pleasure curled low in his belly, and he let out a breathy sigh that echoed in the empty apartment. It had been such a long time since he had done this last. His grip was tight, movement fast, focusing more on the act of getting off than what it took to get him there. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, his mind kept drifting to Bucky. He thought about Bucky’s eyes, hooded with arousal, looking up at him with his full lips wrapped around him, and he cursed when his careful rhythm stuttered. The familiar feeling of his muscles tightening let him know that he was close, so close, almost there.

And that was when he heard it:

The sound of heavy footsteps, a lock clicking, doorknob jiggling announced Bucky’s early arrival. Steve’s heart stopped and he scrambled up on the couch. He only had a few seconds before Bucky entered their apartment, and he knew if he didn’t do something fast, he’d never hear the end of it. He hurriedly shoved his sketchbook behind a pillow before pulling one of the blankets that were draped on the back of the couch onto his lap to hide the evidence. The door swung open just as he settled himself, and there was Bucky, standing in the doorway, soaking wet and tracking little puddles as he crossed the threshold.

“Guess the rain’s good for something,” he said in way of greeting. “At least I get to come home a little early. Did you miss me, Stevie?” 

It was a joke, but Steve laughed nervously anyway.

“Ha, nope, can’t say that I did, pal.” His voice sounded higher and breathier than normal, and he could feel blood rise to his cheeks.

Bucky shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a wet thwump to reveal a similarly drenched work shirt underneath. Steve swore this was God’s way of punishing him for his afternoon activities when Bucky peeled off the straps of his suspenders to untuck and discard his shirt too. He tried to swallow over the dry lump in his throat and nearly choked which drew Bucky’s attention.

“What’s a matter? You gettin’ sick again?” Bucky asked, quickly crossing the length of the living room to stand in front of Steve. “You look like you’ve got a fever.”

Steve shook his head fervently. “Nope I’m fine, not sick at all, promise.” The look Bucky gave him in response was enough for him to know he wasn’t convincing. 

“Yeah, and I think you’re full of shit.” 

Steve nearly flinched away as Bucky leaned down to rest the back of his cool hand against Steve’s forehead. All he could smell was Bucky’s aftershave mixed with sweat and rain. The combination shouldn’t have made his heart stutter, but it did, and he swore he might have an asthma attack right there on the couch. With a frown, Bucky pulled his hand away.

“You feel a little warm to me. Maybe you should take off the blanket, huh? Try to cool off a bit so you don’t make yourself sick.” Bucky grabbed at the corner of the fabric, tugging it, and Steve grappled to keep it in place. 

“No! I’m fine, really, Buck! Just a little cool, that’s all. I’m fi--”

His words died in his throat when his grip on the blanket slipped, and Bucky used the chance to pull it aside. If his face wasn’t already beet red, it certainly was now, and he prayed God would smite him where he was so he wouldn’t have to face this embarrassment.

“Oh… well, uh… Guess it’s a good thing you’re not sick,” Bucky laughed.  He lifted a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck, and Steve could see the faint hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Do you, uh, need me to go back outside for a sec? ‘Cause I can, y’know, if you want me to.” 

Steve picked up the nearest pillow on the couch, forgetting that his sketchbook still flipped open to Bucky’s face was hiding underneath it. Bucky laughed and dodged the hit easily, and luck was clearly not on Steve’s side that evening because Bucky’s eyes immediately traveled from Steve’s face to a reflection of his own.

“What’s this? Were you drawing earlier today?” 

It’s an honest enough question, and Steve thought maybe Bucky hadn’t realized the content matter of the portrait yet. He grabbed at it, but Bucky easily plucked it from his hands to give it a better look.

“Oh.”

It was the second time Steve had to hear Bucky say that, and he wanted to die. He wanted to fling himself off of the fire escape and run for the rest of his life so he’d never have to face Bucky again. 

“Is this… were you drawing me and then…?” Bucky’s face matched Steve’s when he was finally able to pull his attention away from the sketch. “I mean it’s good, Steve, really good, better than any of the other ones you’ve done of me but…”

“You think I’m disgusting now, don’t you?” Steve averted his eyes, choosing to stare at Bucky’s scuffed work boots instead. It would make sense for Bucky to hate him now. Things like this weren’t exactly seen as being okay.

“Do you think you’re disgusting?”

The question caught him off guard. It was something Steve had never taken the time to consider. He alternated between opening and closing his mouth, trying to form a coherent answer.

“No...” he finally answered carefully. “But I know it’s not right. I know I’m not supposed to think of you like that.”

And suddenly there was that look on Bucky’s face, the same one that had gotten Steve into trouble in the first place. It confused him as much as it thrilled him. He didn’t know what to expect from this conversation, wasn’t sure what sort of outcomes were possible, but he knew that he had to be honest and roll with whatever Bucky was going to hit him with next.

“So you  _ were _ thinking of me when you were touching yourself.” Bucky sat down next to Steve on the couch, a little closer than normal. “What exactly were you thinking about when you were drawing this, huh?” It might just be Steve’s imagination, maybe even wishful thinking, but it sounded like Bucky’s voice was rougher.

“I… Buck, no, I’m not… I can’t...” He was too embarrassed, it was too much to say out loud.

“C’mon, Stevie, tell me. Please.”

Steve couldn’t say no to that, not with Bucky practically begging him. If he wanted to judge him, to mess with him, he would have already done it. This was different.

“I was thinking about… y’know, when you bring those girls home and you… and I started thinking about the way you sound,” his words trailed off as he focused on getting his breathing and heart rate under control to no avail. Talking about it was so much worse than thinking about it, and his body was aching with how close they were sitting. Bucky moved to rest his back against the couch and draped his arm along the top of it so that his hand was resting behind Steve’s head, not quite touching him.

“I always wondered if you listened to me,” Bucky admitted. “Can’t say I wasn’t loud on purpose. I had to make sure the neighbors heard so they wouldn’t be suspicious.” Steve’s brows furrowed in confusion, and Bucky must have caught his expression. “Well, y’know how they feel about queers. Couldn’t have them spreading rumors about us. Not many men live together like this, Steve, and I didn’t want to put you in danger.

Steve felt a sudden rush of adrenaline through his body, one that let him sit up a little straighter and meet Bucky’s eyes.

“That what you tell yourself, Buck? Did you do it just to protect me? Or is it ‘cause you wanted me to hear you?” He felt a sense of pride when he saw Bucky raise his eyebrows in shock, even if he quickly covered it by shrugging his shoulders.

“That was just an added perk. Why? Did you like what you heard?”

Steve couldn’t think straight anymore, not while Bucky had started to idly play with the hair at the nape of his neck, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin causing goosebumps to erupt in their wake. He couldn’t take this anymore, the constant back and forth without any relief. He leaned back, trying to get closer to Bucky, to feel his touch a little better.

“You’ve got no idea. Jesus, Buck, have you ever heard yourself?”

“Can’t say that I have, but I’m more interested in what you sound like.” Bucky pulled Steve closer to his side with his arm resting comfortably over Steve’s shoulders. “Wanna show me what you were doing before I came home?”

Bucky wanted him. Actually wanted him, and it was so surreal to be hearing those words, to be given the okay to do what he had been dying to do for so long now. The thought alone was enough to make him twitch, desperate for something to relieve the pressure building inside of him.

“You wanna watch me, Buck?” he let out with a shaky breath.

“Only if you want to show me.” 

Bucky was offering him a get-out-free card, and though he was thankful, that was the last thing Steve wanted to do. He took another breath to steel his resolve and gave Bucky his answer by letting his hand drift to his lap and rub at the outline of his cock through his pants. He licked his dry lips to dampen them, letting them fall apart on a quiet, trembling moan. It was different with someone watching him, somehow better than it had ever been before when he was alone. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. This would change everything. Their relationship would never be the same after this, but how could he care when Bucky was looking at him like he was the most beautiful goddamn thing in the world?

Bucky leaned in and Steve followed suit, their lips meeting in a soft kiss that had Steve’s hand stilling in his lap, unable to focus on multitasking with Bucky’s hand cupping his head and holding him there to kiss him harder. Steve didn’t care that he was messy and unrefined compared to Bucky’s experience. There was no room for technique when they had waited so long to do this. He tried to continue to palm himself, to do what Bucky wanted him to do, but it wasn’t enough, the touch dulled by layers of fabric.

“Please, Buck, I need...” Steve didn’t know what he was asking for, just knew that he needed more, and Bucky was always there to give him what he wanted. His warm hands gripped Steve’s hips and pulled him into his lap so that Steve was forced to straddle him. Those same hands ran up along the knobs of Steve’s spine, sending tendrils of electricity through his body.

“I got you, Stevie.” It was breathy, a sure sign that Bucky was just as affected by this as Steve. Bucky’s lips trailed from Steve’s mouth to his neck, nipping and sucking bruises into his pale skin. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Steve's hips instinctively moved on their own, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Do you tease all the ladies like this too, Buck? Or is it just me?”

“Just you. S’always been just you.”

Bucky didn’t waste anymore time as he finally touched Steve, grip tight as if he already knew just how Steve liked it best. With Bucky’s work-hardened hand around him, pumping him steadily, he knew he wouldn’t last long, he couldn’t, not when he’d been holding onto this for years. He rested his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck, breathing heavily against him, letting him hear every little noise he made. That was what Bucky had wanted after all, to hear him like all of those nights Steve had been forced to listen to him. 

“Fuck, Bucky…” He groaned, familiar heat in his stomach beginning to pool.

“You gonna come for me, Stevie?” Bucky encouraged him, twisting his wrist in a way that had Steve shuddering against his body. It didn’t take much more for Steve to tense in his lap, strangled noise clawing it’s way out of his throat as he came long and hard. He slumped against Bucky, trembling and trying to catch his breath before he had an asthma attack.

“Easy, easy, just breathe, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I got you.”

He listened to Bucky’s steady breathing, focused on the circles Bucky had started to rub into his back and let that calm him down until he was barely panting. His body had never felt so relaxed before as he rested against the one person who had been by his side for his entire life. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

“You gonna pass out on me?” Bucky laughed, but it was soft, affectionate.

“Maybe. S’your fault for teasing me for so long.”

Bucky huffed and tightened his grip on Steve as he stood and carried him toward their shared bedroom.

“I can walk, Buck. Jesus, I’m not a lady,” It was a mild protest with no real threat. Steve was too tired to care.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re not a lady. Besides, I never let any of them sleep in our bed anyway.”

The thought warmed Steve as Bucky put him down on top of their worn comforter. He moved over to his side of the bed, resting his eyes until Bucky joined him. This was something he was familiar with. Sleeping next to Bucky had been a comfort he had never taken for granted, and it made him feel like everything would be okay. Bucky encircled Steve in his arms and pressed a small kiss against Steve’s damp forehead. 

He was almost asleep when Bucky finally spoke up.

“Does this mean I can finally pose nude for you?”

Steve playfully slapped his arm.

“Shut up and let me sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to stereolights for helping me flesh out the ideas for this fic and letting me bug her endlessly about it for two days straight.
> 
> Also this was my first time writing this sort of thing so be gentle with me. Comments and kuddos are welcomed and encouraged!


End file.
